Ave Maria, Vale Gregg
by B5Entilzha
Summary: Mrs Muir finds the Captain's grave, but moving him to consecrated ground may mean his departure from Gull Cottage. NB edited due to ff dot net removing all section breaks the first time, thus making it confusing to read!


_This is a prequel to my story, '_ Double, Double, Toil and Trouble _'. It can be read at any point in the series, but I felt a little explanation as to how Maria and Mrs Muir got together was needed and the events surrounding that meeting suddenly poured out without warning (these characters can be quite determined!). As usual, all characters you recognise belong to 20_ _th_ _Century Fox and the estate of R. A. Dick. Maria is mine. Any similarities to persons living, dead or in spirit form is entirely coincidental. Many thanks to Gaylesam for her wonderful support. When I first wrote this I wasn't sure it was worth uploading. She assured me it was, so if you like it you may thank her for convincing me. For those whose Latin isn't up to it (very few on here, I suspect ), Ave means hail and Vale means 'farewell'. Um, a tissue warning may be in order._

 **※※※**

"You do realise that now you've been proved not to be a suicide, your remains can be moved into the churchyard?" Carolyn observed as she placed flowers on Martha's grave, the Captain tweaking them subtly to ensure they stayed in place. Their housekeeper, friend and stalwart ally in the world had died three months before, and Carolyn was diligent in ensuring fresh flowers were placed on her resting place every week. The Captain went along to keep her company on these sad journeys, but to his satisfaction Mrs Muir was coming out of her depression. He had watched as Martha passed over and happily reported that she had been welcomed into the hereafter by – if the reaction of her spirit was anything to go by – her much loved husband.

"I had thought of that, madam," the spirit replied, "but I find I am loathe to change the status quo."

"Oh? Why?" She tugged at some weeds that had already taken root.

He looked down for a long time and she wondered if it was too painful a subject. "Captain, if you don't want to talk about it because it's uncomfortable…"

He drew himself up, folding his arms briefly, then unfolding them again as he struggled to express himself. "It's not exactly that. Rather... I find I am unwilling to leave."

"Leave?"

"It could be that the only thing now holding me to Gull Cottage is the fact my body was not interred in consecrated ground. Correcting that error could mean I move on and…" he trailed off, gazing at her, his hands and eyes expressing what his words could not.

Carolyn picked up the old flowers, ready to drop them on the compost heap on their way out. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted, the thought of losing his companionship causing an ache to bloom in her chest, then she steeled herself. "But surely whatever comes after this has to be a thousand times better than what's gone on before?"

"Perhaps, but I find it hard to believe I would be half as happy there as I am here, right now… with you."

The dead flowers dropped to the ground from nerveless fingers as she took in his meaning. She turned to him, trying to smile and make light of his comment. "Captain, I hardly think being a ghost in Gull Cottage compares to heaven."

"I wasn't talking about the building," he replied, his blue eyes roving her features. "And I think… I hope… you would miss me?"

She collected the tired blooms once more, rose and turned to him. "Very much, but I would feel bad holding you here when you could move on. Besides, what we have now is all we will ever have. It's not much of a substitute. Please, don't misunderstand me… I love having the attention of a handsome man…" He grinned at her, "but if you move on you could feel again, touch others. We both know that's never going to happen so long as you're trapped here."

He sighed. "While that is true, I believe that when you truly lo… care for someone greatly," he corrected quickly, "the physical aspects, though undeniably pleasant, pale in comparison to the spiritual, and in that arena I find I have an embarrassment of riches."

Carolyn blushed at the look he gave her, and she hadn't missed his slip, either. "I feel the same, Captain," she assured him. "Even so, I could never forgive myself if I kept you from a happiness you can't even imagine right now."

He cleared his throat. "Thankfully, the matter is out of our hands. I did not attend my own funeral and have no idea where they put my body. As a sea captain, it's likely they buried me out there." He pointed to the seaward horizon. "You can hardly dredge the Atlantic for my remains!"

"Given how many are buried out there, I doubt I'd be guaranteed to find just yours!" she added, and the two shared a rueful smile. It was a dark humour, but appropriate, given the circumstances.

 **※※※**

Later that night as she prepared for bed, Carolyn found herself mulling over their conversation. It was rare the Captain revealed his feelings so plainly, but she couldn't help feeling guilty. If he was being held here because of his affection for her, then whatever they did with his remains would make no difference. If he wasn't, it was only fair that she helped him move on. She resolved to check the records the following day. She struggled with the thought of Gull Cottage without its resident spirit, but he had been trapped on earth away from those he once knew and loved for over a hundred years. His feelings for her could well change as she aged and he'd still be trapped and unable to step away without it becoming awkward or hurtful. She'd rather he go now so she could remember him loving her, than stay until the end and finish hating her but unable to step away honourably.

"Captain?" she said into the air. "Captain, are you there?" When silence greeted her, she decided to carry on anyway, if only to assuage her own conscience. "I do care about you, Captain. More than I'm willing to admit, but I can't hold you here. Please don't think I'm doing this because I want to get rid of you. I want you to be happy, and you can't be happy with what we have. Even if you're satisfied with it now, in time you won't be, and I couldn't bear to become an anchor, tying you down. You deserve so much more."

Invisibly, the Captain listened. He had almost materialised when she called for him, but he didn't want her to know he was watching over her sleeping, as he had done since about a year into her time at Gull Cottage. Since she always changed in the closet, there was no danger of him seeing more than he should, but he had made it his self-appointed task to ensure she slept well and safely. He lowered his head.

When she had first arrived such an offer would have been welcomed, provided he could ensure his wishes with regard to the house were fulfilled. Now it tasted like ashes in his mouth. He dematerialised and re-materialized in Claymore's office. His faux nephew slept in the next room, so as quietly as he could the Captain went through the files until he found what he was looking for. He knew he had not been buried at sea. In fact, he knew exactly where his bones lay, and he was happy to leave them there. Re-materialising in Gull Cottage he fed the paper into the banked fire, watching with satisfaction as the record was turned to smoke.

 **※※※**

"I'm sure it was here," Claymore muttered, searching again through the files.

"How do you find anything in this?" Carolyn asked, trying to make head or tail of Claymore's filing system.

"It makes perfect sense… if you've been trained properly."

Carolyn raised an eyebrow but managed to bite her tongue. They'd been at this an hour without success and she was getting backache from leaning over the low drawers. "Claymore, it's not here."

"It was! Someone's taken it!"

"Who would take something like that?"

"You said it could be what's holding _you know who_ in Gull Cottage," he replied, lowering his voice. His eyes swept the room lest the subject of his comment be lurking. That potential for moving the Captain out of Gull Cottage was the reason Claymore had been willing to find said document and was happy to have Carolyn going through his files. "If he doesn't want to leave, he might have taken it."

Carolyn was about to say that was ridiculous but, in fact, it wasn't. "You may be right," she replied and pushed the drawer she was looking through firmly shut.

"Of course, what he doesn't know is I know where he's buried because I went there once."

"Really? When?"

"A while ago," he answered vaguely. "I think I remember where it was."

She frowned at him and gestured to the drawers. "So why did you make us go through all this?"

"Well, there are procedures. If we're to move it once we find it I need proof it's the right grave for the authorities. You can't just grab a shovel and relocate bodies, you know."

"I didn't say for certain it would have to be moved, and why did you visit it before? Somehow I can't see it being out of familial affection."

"Hardly! He enjoys making my life miserable! Always has."

"Now, Claymore, you know that's not true. He just likes to keep you on the straight and narrow." Off his pout she added, "All right, **very** straight and narrow. So why did you go there?"

"I thought if I could find it I might be rid of him," he replied, his expression sullen.

That comment gave Carolyn pause. She didn't want the Captain to think she was agreeing with Claymore's reasons. Her wish was to make sure the grave was properly looked after and to give the Captain peace, not to 'be rid of him', and if it was possible to re-inter his remains properly and still keep his spirit at Gull Cottage, she would be very happy indeed. Without voicing her thoughts, she asked Claymore to take her to the grave. At the very least she wanted to know where he was. He grabbed his hat and keys and led the way, changing the sign to closed and locking his office carefully.

When they finally reached the spot, Carolyn found herself wanting to cry. Overgrown, messy and barely visible, the only marker for the grave was a small, flat stone with the Captain's initials and the dates of his birth and death. It would be easy to stumble over it in the dark and not know what it was. She thanked Claymore for taking her there, made a mental note of its location and, on returning to town, picked up some cleaning materials. Even if they didn't move him, she was determined the Captain's last resting place would no longer be a haven for slugs, bird droppings and wood lice.

It took her most of the afternoon, but by the time she was finished it was quite clear this was a grave, not merely a random stone that had fallen off the back of a builder's lorry. With a nod of satisfaction, she tidied away her stuff and headed back to her car.

 **※※※**

When Carolyn got back to Gull Cottage she found the Captain in his alcove, working on his sea charts.

"Captain, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, madam. I am, as ever, at your service." He put down his fountain pen – a safer option where guests might knock over the inkwell required for a quill – and waited for her to speak.

"Claymore tells me there was a record of your funeral arrangements, but it's disappeared."

"Hardly surprising, given the way that nincompoop keeps his files," he returned smoothly.

"Luckily, he knew where it was anyway and took me there."

It was a struggle, but he managed to keep his expression bland. "Oh?"

"I cleaned it up. It was quite a mess."

He shrugged. "It will be outside the churchyard. No one would be tasked with caring for it."

"It's nearly a mile outside the churchyard, under some trees that look like they may have inspired Washington Irving," she replied brushing her knees which, she now noticed, were stained from her work.

"And is it a 'sleepy hollow'?"

"From the smell I think quite a few animals use it for a urinal. Captain, surely you aren't happy to leave it there?"

"My dear, whether my remains are at the bottom of the sea, under a tarpaulin or sunk into a bog it really doesn't matter. I'm hardly likely to need them again."

"But it's so disrespectful."

"Mouldy bones do not understand respect or lack of it. Let any who think they can insult my memory come here and I will teach them a lesson, but my mortal parts are worm-food by now and cannot care how they are treated."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Absolutely certain," he asserted.

 **※※※**

Unfortunately, Carolyn's work to clean up the Captain's grave brought its existence to the notice of the church pastor, who was not so sanguine about the Captain's remains being left outside the churchyard now it had been proven he was not a suicide. The first Carolyn knew of it was over a month later when she saw an announcement in the Schooner Bay Beacon at breakfast. Her gasp drew the Captain's attention.

"Madam? What has happened?"

"Oh Captain. I am so sorry!" She handed the paper over and he quickly scanned the announcement of his reinterment. "Is there any way we can stop this?"

"Without appearing in front of the parson and thereby convincing him it would be the best thing he could do? No."

"Perhaps I could talk to him," she offered.

"Madam, while I do not deny your right in this instance, the fact is no one else knows that you can speak for me. The only person who can officially represent me, to my eternal shame, is that mewling cretin, Claymore. Can you see him turning down the opportunity to perhaps be rid of me at last?"

"I can try."

 **※※※**

"Mrs Muir, my hands are tied. If you hadn't cleaned up the grave my illustrious ancestor could have continued haunting for the rest of his afterlife with no one any the wiser. As it is, the pastor is determined and thanks to the newspaper article you wrote, the whole town is behind him." The words were nice, but the gleam in Claymore's eye told her he was absolutely delighted with the result.

"But the Captain doesn't want to leave! Blast it, **I** don't want him to leave!"

"Then perhaps you should have left his grave and the record of his death alone?"

With a sigh she collected her bag and headed for the door. "Claymore, if the Captain leaves because of this, I will be leaving Gull Cottage soon after."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but to be brutally honest, with the Captain gone it'll be easy to rent out that property and at a much higher rent than I can charge right now."

She paused. "Do you hate him… do you hate _me_ so much you'd do this to us?"

He rose from his chair. "Mrs Muir, you're a very dear friend. I don't hate you. I don't even hate him… well, not all the time," he added when she raised an eyebrow at him. "But as you pointed out, his grave is a mess and if that is the only thing holding him here, surely it's right to allow him to move on?"

"Not to mention you'd finally be rid of him and could up the rent to something I couldn't possibly afford?"

He placed his hand dramatically to his chest. "Would I do that to you?"

 **※※※**

"Why that… Madam, I can make his life hell until the interment," the Captain assured her when she related the conversation.

"What's the point? All you'll be doing is confirming every reason he has to get rid of you. I just wish I'd never found your grave."

"It does seem no good deed goes unpunished," he agreed, sitting down beside her. Unable to touch, all he could do was watch as the tears flowed down her cheeks, his chest squeezing tightly. Seeing her pain was excruciating. "If it is of any help, I was touched by your care of my grave. That this was the result in no way detracts from the act and I do not hold you responsible in any way."

"Thank you," she sniffed. "I just wish I hadn't done such a good job of it."

"If a job is worth doing…"

"I'll move out," she said suddenly, nodding her head in agreement with herself. "I can't stay here if you're not around. I'll find somewhere nearby so I can visit your grave and make sure it's well tended."

"No, you will not. Remember what I said: I'm not there. If you want to show me how much you care, the best thing you could do is move far away and live a full life."

"How can I? You're as important to me as I am to you. If you're forced to go because of my actions…"

"Now, now. Belay that! You have your work and your children. Jonathan and Candy will always need their mother."

"Jonathan will never forgive me for this," she replied, the tears still flowing.

"He will. He'll understand, in time. And if… when your time comes…" Tenderly he placed his hand so it looked like it was over hers. With everything she had she willed herself to feel something, but to no avail. She looked up into his eyes. "Should you still want me then and have not found anyone, I will be waiting for you." If a ghost could cry, he would have been openly weeping, and that proved Carolyn's undoing. With a strangled sob she bolted from the room and headed upstairs. The Captain stayed where he was, watching her run away from him.

 **※※※**

It took several hours, but at last Carolyn found she had no more tears left and fell into an exhausted sleep, her dreams tortured by her own guilt. The look of hurt on the Captain's face as she condemned him over and over in her imagination caused her to wake several times in the night, begging his forgiveness. The Captain heard her but he could not think of anything he could do to ease her pain. At least not now. Sitting in the wheelhouse, he dipped his quill and wrote the words he needed her to hear. Perhaps, when this was all over, they would help.

 **※※※**

Carolyn didn't leave Gull Cottage in the days leading up to the service. The pastor asked Claymore to attend as the Captain's body was exhumed, so its previous owner decided to go along as well. He watched the mechanical excavator work its way down before the church gravediggers climbed into the hole to finish the job. As a suicide he'd had a most basic coffin and it had not fared well. In pieces his remains were brought up and handed over to be placed in a better box. Had it been up to Claymore he had no doubt he'd have been put in a gunny sack, but as it was the entire town had contributed to ensure their hero had a suitable coffin and while the Captain's bones couldn't appreciate the splendour of their new accommodations, it was satisfying to see Claymore taken down by the pastor when the idiot suggested something cheaper would be just as good and the savings could be put to a more worthy cause, such as Claymore's latest money-making scheme. By way of return, the Captain made sure that when the gravediggers filled in the hole, a clod of wet, worm and wood louse infested earth flew straight into his faux nephew's face and watched delightedly as the man desperately tried to get it off, fearing some rotten parts of the Captain might now be in his nose and mouth.

"I could catch all sorts of diseases," the pathetic wimp complained, wiping his tongue with his handkerchief.

"You deserve it," the Captain said in his ear, making Claymore jump. "Now get out of here you disrespectful, tight-fisted, pernicious scoundrel!"

He had to admit, the man could run when he had a mind to.

 **※※※**

The day of the service dawned bright and clear, almost mocking Carolyn's own mood. She dressed slowly in the darkest clothes she could find, willing time to stand still, but it ground on inexorably. She had considered telling Jonathan and Candy, but they were both away – Candy working at university and Jonathan a newly minted lieutenant. Neither could excuse themselves for the burial of a man who'd been dead for a hundred and fifteen years. Thus, rather than upset them, Carolyn decided she'd keep it to herself until they came to visit. It would also spare the Captain the pain of having an entire house full of people grieving him while he was still around.

"Captain?" she called as she reached the foot of the stairs.

"Madam," he replied, appearing beside her.

"I guess… this is goodbye."

"I fear so."

Together they walked into the front room. "Do you remember, when Madam Tibaldi was here, you gave her a kiss?"

"If you recall, I can only do such things when I am invisible. The energy I have can be channelled into my appearance or the faintest of touches, not both."

She closed her eyes. "Please, Captain?"

He regarded her in silence. If this was to be their last moment together he was going to make it a good one, no matter the cost. "I hope you will forgive the liberty… Carolyn."

He vanished and moments later she felt lips pressed to hers and strong arms wrapped around her. She almost opened her eyes but the Captain pulled back.

"No, my darling. Keep your eyes closed. For just this moment, let us dream."

She felt him seek entrance to her mouth and delightedly she welcomed him. She knew anyone seeing her would have thought she was having some kind of seizure, but she didn't care. Reaching up, she felt his beard beneath her fingers and slid her hands around his neck so she could wrap her arms around the body that was invisible to all but touch, clinging on with everything she had, as though she could hold him in place by determination alone. He turned her subtly, pressing his body to hers in one last, desperate embrace, then he was gone and she was left bereft.

"Daniel?" She opened her eyes to find the room empty except for a letter that was propped up on the mantelpiece. Written on the envelope in the Captain's flowing script she read 'Open when you are alone'. She placed the envelope in her pocket, collected her bag and keys and left for the service.

 **※※※**

If any wondered that the widow who lived in Gull Cottage was clearly upset, it was put down to the fact it was probably a reminder of her husband's funeral. The less charitable added that, as a writer, she was undoubtedly a bit unstable. At the end the crowd dispersed, thanking the pastor for giving the Captain his proper send off. Finally, Carolyn was alone, barring the gravediggers who nodded to her and then began filling in the hole. She walked away and found a bench to sit on, reached into her pocket, pulled out the envelope and, with shaking hands, opened it.

' _My Dearest Carolyn_ ,' she read. ' _I hope the words contained within will help. They are not mine, but they express my feelings as eloquently as any I could conjure. Be assured that if it is within my power I will return. If that should prove impossible, know that I will only be happy if you are. It is my sincerest wish that you find someone who will love you as you deserve. Remember me. Daniel_.' She opened the second sheet.

 _Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

 _I am not there; I do not sleep._

 _I am a thousand winds that blow,_

 _I am the diamond glint on snow,_

 _I am the sunlight on ripened grain,_

 _I am the gentle autumn rain._

 _When you awake in the morning hush_

 _I am the swift uplifting rush_

 _Of quiet birds in circling flight._

 _I am the soft starlight at night._

 _Do not stand at my grave and cry,_

 _I am not there; I did not die._

She stared at the words for a long time. Finally, she folded the papers, put them back in the envelope and looked up.

"Wherever you are, Daniel, I promise I will never forget you for as long as I live."

 **※※※**

It was a long, slow drive back to Gull Cottage. When she arrived, Carolyn found she couldn't bear to walk in and feel the place empty, so instead she went to the beach, strolling along the water's edge remembering all the times she and the Captain had done this together. Several hours later, as the sun dipped towards the horizon, she realised she couldn't put it off any longer. With slow, painful steps she made her way back to the house. When she unlocked the door she could immediately feel the change in atmosphere. She'd felt this before when she had the Monkey Puzzle tree taken down.

The Captain was gone.

 **※※※**

She decided to wait a week before telling Claymore. The idea of him cheering when her heart was breaking was more than she could stand. So when, just before the week was up, Claymore appeared uninvited on her doorstep, she was not in a particularly welcoming mood.

"Claymore," she acknowledged coolly, "what are you doing up here?"

He took off his hat. "Mrs Muir. May I come in?"

"If you're here to gloat over the Captain's absence, I'd rather you didn't."

"No, that's not why I'm here. Please?"

She opened the door wider. "It's your house," she shrugged, walking into the front room.

He stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him and followed her. "He's really gone, hasn't he?" he said, but without the gleeful tones she'd expected.

"Are you surprised? It's what you wanted. You've been trying to get rid of him for years. Finally you succeeded. Bully for you." She sat down.

"I went by his grave this morning. Lots of people have laid flowers. I think he'd be pleased to know so many people who didn't know him still cared about him."

"I'm sure he would."

"How are _you_ managing?"

"About the way you'd expect. I try to write but I haven't the heart for it. I was going to drop by tomorrow to give you my formal notice. I won't be able to make next month's rent if this keeps up so I'll pack up and leave. You've got the last month's rent from when I moved in, so you can use that to cover anything outstanding."

"I thought that might be the case. I came by to tell you not to worry about that one. Give yourself time to grieve. If you still can't manage after that then yes, I'll accept your notice, but the Captain would never forgive me if I just threw you out."

"Claymore, he can't hurt you now."

"I know, but he's still watching over us. Besides that, you're a friend, Mrs Muir. I've precious few of those. I'd rather I didn't lose you as a tenant."

"That's kind of you, but I don't think I can live in this house with the way it feels now."

"Then maybe I can find you another place? Please, at least think about it," he added when she shook her head. "I've… I've lost my uncle. I don't want to lose my friend as well."

She stared at him. "Claymore? Are you feeling all right?"

"Honestly, Mrs Muir? No. I don't know what to do with myself. He made my life miserable but in a way, he also gave me a purpose. Trying to make him proud of me, if that makes sense? My parents… you never knew them but you'd have liked them. Thing is, they never pushed, you know? I was there and they supported me, but they supported me no matter what. Even when I screwed up and I knew I'd screwed up, they let me get away with everything. The Captain, he never let me get away with anything and I think… I think he did it because he wanted to make me better than I am; make me worthy of the name Gregg. I never managed it, but he never stopped trying. I think my parents more or less gave up on me, but he never did. Sometimes I'd do things knowing it'd make him angry because if he was angry with me it meant he cared. When my parents said I'd done well it didn't mean anything, but when he did…"

Carolyn smiled. "Wherever he is, I'm sure he'd be proud of you now."

"Oh, I doubt that. He'd probably yell at me for needing his constant attention instead of 'standing on my own two feet like a man!'" The last was said in an impersonation of the Captain's voice.

She nodded. "You know, you're probably right."

"Anyway, think about what I said. Don't make your final decision yet. Please?"

"I can't make any promises. We'll see. Thank you for the extension."

"And if you do decide to stay, I think I may have a replacement for Martha. I know being alone in this place makes it even harder. A nice lady. She's younger than Martha but she was working for the Henderson's before old Mr Henderson died last month. Mrs Henderson's daughter is really well off and she's offered her mother a self-contained flat in her place. They already have staff so Maria's not needed and she said she didn't want to move to Texas anyway."

"Claymore, I just told you I can't make the rent. How could I pay for a housekeeper?"

"Well, maybe if you find your mojo again? Worth a thought. I'd, uh, better get back. No rest for the wicked, as they say. Do you… do you need anything? I notice you've not left the house since the service. If you need some food…?"

"Thank you, but I'm not very hungry at the moment."

"You have to eat! Look, I'll come by later and pick you up. We can go to Norrie's for the early special. It's cheap and… uh, this time it can be on me." When she shook her head again he reached out for her hand. "Mrs Muir, I know you're a terrible cook. That's not me being rude, it's just you've said it yourself so many times. That's another reason you need to replace Martha. It'll make me feel better if I know you've had a proper meal. Please?"

She gave him a weak smile. "All right. I promise not to be a strain on your wallet."

 **※※※**

If Claymore hoped the dinner would raise Carolyn's spirits, he was sadly mistaken. She was true to her word, choosing the least expensive item on the menu, but even then she picked at it. Given she was hardly overweight to start with, her total disinterest raised red flags in Claymore's brain. Once he'd dropped Carolyn off at Gull Cottage he swung by Maria's place.

"Claymore? To what do I owe this _honour_?" Maria asked warily when she found him on her doorstep.

"May I come in?"

"Sure, if you promise to go out again without charging me for your company." She stepped aside to allow him entrance.

"I'm not that bad!" When she raised an eyebrow he decided not to push and followed her. "I wanted to offer you a temporary job."

"Oh?"

"You know Mrs Muir up at Gull Cottage?"

"That writer who was crying at the Captain's service? Yes. Well, I know _of_ her. Not really taken the time to chat."

"She's all alone at the house and I'm worried about her. She's not eating and her housekeeper, Martha, died a few months ago. I want someone up there to keep an eye on her and make sure she eats properly. I'd be paying you."

"You?" Maria stared at him. "Have you been drinking?"

"Why does everyone think that when I'm just trying to be nice? She's a friend, all right? I want to know she's OK."

"Did she ask you to find her a housekeeper?"

"No, but I don't care. She needs someone. She's a terrible cook. Seriously, she can burn water."

"Seemed a bit touched to me." Off his look she added, "Well, honestly. Crying like that over a man who's been dead over a hundred years? I know she wrote his memoirs but you'd think she knew him personally."

Claymore gulped. Given the Captain was no longer around, would it hurt to admit the truth? "Maria, can you keep a secret?"

"If I couldn't I wouldn't get much work," she replied pragmatically, indicating he should take a seat at the kitchen table.

"She _did_ know him personally."

"Then either she's a lot older than she looks or you're slinging me a line."

"Did you never hear of the ghost of Gull Cottage?"

"That old story tale? Don't tell me you believe that nonsense?"

"Hard not to when that nonsense picks you up and throws you out of the house. Captain Gregg was my great-great uncle and I can assure you he really did haunt Gull Cottage. He and Mrs Muir… well, he was a spirit so there was nothing untoward going on, but he loved her and she loved him. You know, it was beautiful in a way. They couldn't do anything about it, but the way they looked at each other… I'd like it if someone looked at me that way."

"Uh huh." She glared at him. "Well don't look over here, Sonny Jim. All you'll get is a slap."

"I wasn't suggesting… For goodness' sake, Maria, I'm just trying to explain to you. I'm worried Mrs Muir may try to follow him. Not actively – she wouldn't do that – but if she doesn't start looking after herself she'll do it anyway. She needs someone to talk to."

Maria grabbed the coffee pot, quickly putting two mugs on the table. "I think you'd better fill me in."

 **※※※**

Four hours later, Maria didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The stories Claymore told of the Captain's antics dealing with his descendant and any who crossed him had her hugging her sides, but the love affair that could never be was heart-breaking.

"You know, I heard many of these stories from other people, and they always sounded like they'd been hitting the sauce too hard. Now I know the Captain was doing those things it all makes perfect sense."

"So you believe me?"

"Looks like I'm gonna have to."

"And will you go up and help Mrs Muir?"

"If she'll have me. But if she says no I'm not gonna force myself on her. It has to be her decision."

"I'll take you up there. You make that wonderful apple pie of yours and I guarantee she'll want to have you around."

"You know she likes apple pie?"

"Well, she liked Martha's cherry pie, and they're both fruit. How different can they be?"

She swatted him.

 **※※※**

The next day, loaded with groceries Claymore had also paid for – 'though he'd made sure Maria went for the cheapest options – the two walked up the path to Gull Cottage. When Carolyn answered the door she looked haggard and it was plain to see that she had been crying again.

"Claymore, I'm really not in the mood…"

"I know, but Maria is here to help. Now don't worry, Mrs Muir, I'll be paying her for the next two weeks. Maybe longer," he added, when Maria stepped on his toes, "but we can play it by ear. It's just an extra pair of hands and Maria's an excellent cook. Please, humour me, Mrs Muir."

With a sigh Carolyn opened the door fully to allow Maria to make her way to the kitchen with her bags. Claymore hoisted a couple of his own and followed her in. Once he'd deposited his load he went into the front room where Carolyn was staring at the Captain's portrait.

"I keep thinking he'll suddenly appear, like he used to," she whispered.

He stepped up beside her. "I hope you don't mind, but Maria knows about you and the Captain. Now, don't be angry with me Mrs Muir," he added, raising his hand to ward off her glare. "If she was going to help you properly she had to know."

"If he was here he'd lift you up and carry you out of the house before throwing you over your car," she replied.

"Oh, I wish I could see that," Maria said, coming in from the kitchen. "I'm so sorry I never got to meet the Captain. He sounds like a wonderful fellow."

"He was," Carolyn agreed quietly.

"I'm really hoping you can tell me more stories about him. I'd love to listen. Claymore told me how the Captain helped him get rid of that Mr Albertson who wanted to turn Schooner Bay into a tourist trap."

"Helped Claymore?! Claymore invited Albertson here in the first place!" She turned on Claymore. "Are you rewriting history again?"

"Um, I think I have an appointment. I'd better go. Ladies." He nodded his head and practically ran out of the door.

"Had a feeling he was coming off too well in some of those tales. Want to tell me the real ones? I've got some coffee on the boil."

 **※※※**

As Carolyn and Maria bonded over the Captain's antics with Claymore, upstairs in the wheelhouse a chart edge moved. A casual observer might have thought a draft of wind moved it, but given there was not so much as a breath of air in the dusty room, much less a draft, that would have been hard to prove. Still harder, then, to explain how said chart suddenly lifted itself up, turned around and went down again. Had the observer hung around (as opposed to fled screaming) they would have seen a quill rise out of its holder, dip itself in the ink well and then slowly drag itself across to the chart before unceremoniously dropping to the floor. If the increasingly courageous observer also had astonishingly sharp hearing, they might have heard a word that seemed to come from far away, its volume quieter than a mouse breath.

"Blast!"

 **※※※**

"So he wasn't entirely lying when he said the Captain kicked him out of the house," Maria gasped as she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Lifted him up, picture frame around his neck and propelled him would be more accurate," Carolyn grinned. "His feet literally didn't touch the ground from the top of the stairs until he was put through his car roof. I can't count how many times I saw it, but even then it was hard to believe."

"What a wonderful man!"

"Claymore?"

"Goodness, no! The Captain!

"He would have been pleased to hear you say that. Martha called him an ogre before she met him."

"He wouldn't have liked that!"

"He didn't. He was standing right behind her. Called her an 'ungrateful wench'."

Maria nodded, her mind whirling with the stories Carolyn had told. Two intelligent people who valued their privacy, both with a talent for writing… "I can see why you two got on so well."

"We didn't. Not always. There were times we stopped speaking to each other, times when all we seemed to do was shout at each other, but the worst of that was over within a few years. We still had the occasional squall, but we got over it much faster."

"All couples have fights," Maria replied, getting up to turn on the cooker so she could get dinner started. "It's how you make up afterwards that makes the difference."

"We always had to talk it out. As he was a spirit there wasn't any other choice."

"I don't get that," Maria replied, waving the coffee pot. Carolyn nodded and Maria quickly topped up her mug. "He can lift Claymore and dump him in the road, send a harpoon flying at Albertson, but he can't touch you. Doesn't make sense."

"Whenever the Captain did any of those things to a living thing he was invisible. I think it helped he was angry, too. That gave him more power. The last time we were together…"

Maria saw the tears starting to well in Carolyn's eyes. "You can tell me about that some other time. What about when potential suitors came around? I'm guessing the Captain didn't take too kindly to them."

If Carolyn noticed how Maria kept the conversation light, she declined to pass comment. The rest of the evening was occupied telling of the various suitors who had paid (in most cases fleeting) court to the lady of Gull Cottage and how the Captain had dealt with them. By the time she finally turned in, Carolyn had eaten a proper meal and laughed long and hard for the first time since the whole business with the Captain's grave had started. Maria proved astute, quick-witted and insightful, and Carolyn couldn't help but think the Captain would have liked her. As she climbed into bed it occurred to her that if these stories were spun in the right way, they'd make good copy, provided she could do it without revealing anything to the residents of Schooner Bay.

 **※※※**

Downstairs Maria, who was staying over until they were certain Mrs Muir would be all right, was gazing at the Captain's painting.

"Captain," she whispered, mindful that the lady of the house needed her sleep, "if you can hear me, I just wanted to introduce myself. My name's Maria Duggan. You don't know me, but I promise you I'll look after your lady as best I can until you return. I'm sure you will because when two people love each other the way you two do, nothing gets between them. If you could stay here as a spirit for over a hundred years because of a stupid newspaper report, I reckon you can manage it for a family that needs you. Claymore told me Mrs Muir hasn't told the kids yet, so come on, Captain, fight your way back before she has to. Besides, I want to meet you." She listened for a short while, just in case, but hearing nothing she bid him good night, checked the doors were locked and switched off the lights.

Behind the curtain in the alcove a candle, long since cold, sputtered briefly and sprang to life.

 **※※※**

Two days later Carolyn was at her typewriter, trying to structure some of the events in her life into a narrative that might sell. It wasn't easy, especially doing it without letting the cat out of the bag. Even so, she couldn't help chuckling as she remembered some of them, but then she looked up at the Captain's telescope and the chuckles died. Leaning back in her chair she stared at the instrument, picturing the Captain standing beside it, hand on hip as he gazed over the sea he loved. Her eyes began to fill once more and she shook her head, trying to quell the endless emotions.

Suddenly, the telescope moved on its own, turning from sideways on to looking straight out to sea.

"Captain?!" She leapt from her chair and went to the binnacle, placing her hand carefully on the cool, highly polished metal. She peered through the telescope and, seeing nothing, turned to the room. "Captain? Are you there? Please tell me you're there."

While nothing happened, Carolyn nevertheless felt her heart a little lighter. Perhaps there was hope yet? She went downstairs.

"Maria? Maria are you there?"

"What is it, Mrs Muir?" Maria replied, coming in from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"Have you seen anything odd happening lately?"

Maria cocked her head. "Odd in what way?"

"Things moving when they shouldn't? Things not where you left them, that sort of odd."

Maria thought for a moment. "Did you light the candle in the alcove?"

She frowned. "No. I don't use that area. It was where the Captain used to do his charts when he wasn't up in the wheelhouse."

Maria put the tea towel in the waistband of her apron and went to the alcove, returning with a spent candle. "This is the second candle I've put in this holder. I thought you were using it, so I figured I should keep it available to you."

Carolyn's frown cleared and a smile lit up her face. "It's the Captain! He's trying to come back."

As one they turned to the painting. "Come on, Captain!" Carolyn murmured. "You can do it! Come back to me."

Maria echoed her. "I want you back too! Mrs Muir is so much happier knowing you're around. Please, Captain! If there's anything we can do to help…"

Despite their pleas, the ghost remained absent. Eventually Carolyn sighed and shook her head. "He's trying, I know he is. He moved the telescope earlier. Perhaps it's just taking him time to work up to full strength?"

"At least he's giving us signs he's around. It's better than nothing."

Carolyn nodded, but she knew it wouldn't be enough indefinitely. Not after all she and the Captain had been through.

 **※※※**

The two weeks were up. Carolyn was still fighting with a new concept for her – comedy – and it was proving hard to master. She found she tended to over-egg the pudding, thus denying the lightness the genre called for, but when she left out those extra details she wasn't sure if the readers would understand why it was funny. Her waste-paper basket was having a good day, and as she tore yet one more sheet from the typewriter, screwed it up and lobbed it after the others she swore loudly. The telescope rotated several times.

"I know, I know. They're not ladies' terms," she replied to the unspoken comment. "This is hopeless! I'm just not cut out for writing comedy!" Still grumbling she headed for the closet, grabbed a coat and a change of shoes and then went downstairs. She'd just reached the entrance hall when a sharp rapping made her jump. Opening the door she found Claymore outside.

"Good morning Mrs Muir. Are you going out?"

"Just to get some air and try to clear my head. What can I do for you, Claymore?"

"Well, it's been two weeks, and since you seem to be feeling better I figured it was time to take Maria home."

"I can make my own way, thank you Claymore," Maria answered coolly, walking up behind Carolyn.

"You're going?"

Maria shrugged and pointed to the landlord.

"As you're writing again it looks like you no longer need the extra support," he provided.

"But it's _because_ Maria's here that I can get back to writing, and I've not sold anything yet, so I can't afford to pay her myself. Couldn't you manage just a little longer?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Muir, but I'm not a charity. I can't afford to maintain your staff indefinitely."

"I didn't say indefinitely," she replied, "just a couple more weeks or until I manage to sell some stories and get back on my feet."

"I'm already letting you off a month's rent. Even I have my limits."

"Claymore, please!"

He raised his hand. "Sorry, Mrs Muir. Time's up and nothing will change my mind."

Suddenly a voice Carolyn had been longing to hear filled the air. "Nothing, eh? Try this you Machiavellian, money-grubbing, inconsiderate lout!" Suddenly Claymore was lifted off the ground, propelled down the garden path, floated over the wall and dumped into his car, which set off down the road before he had a chance to so much as grab the steering wheel.

Maria was torn between worry Claymore would go off the cliff-edge if he didn't get control soon and delight to have finally witnessed one of the Captain's antics. As the two women watched Claymore master his vehicle and get it back on the road, the cause of his distress materialised in front of them.

"Captain! You're back!" Had he been able to catch her, Carolyn would have thrown herself into his arms. As it was she was beaming enough to blot out the sun.

"Your servant, madam." He gave a short bow. "Maria. A pleasure to meet you properly at last."

Maria nodded, her own smile almost as broad as Mrs Muir's. "Likewise."

"I'm sorry you will be leaving us, now I've finally managed to get back here."

"Um, not quite so soon."

"Oh?"

"I had a feeling Claymore would put the brakes on a little early, and even I know two weeks isn't near enough time for a writer to get things back on track and churn out a masterpiece, so I did a bit of creative accounting. When he hired me he insisted I give him my past payslips as proof of my wages."

"Typical of that skin-flint to ask for them, but I don't understand," the spirit replied.

"The Henderson's always included my living allowance as part of my wages, but they massively over-estimated the cost of living in Schooner Bay. I did try to tell them but they wouldn't listen. Since I've been living here I haven't touched a cent, and what Claymore doesn't know is that old Mr Henderson gave me a gift in his will: he paid off the mortgage on my house as a thank you for all the years I'd worked for them and for taking care of him towards the end. Between the over hyped wages and no expenditure, I can hang on at least a couple of weeks more without being paid and, to be honest, I'd like to stay here. I have the feeling this is gonna be a wonderful place to work… if you'll have me?"

"You managed to prise money out of Claymore Scrooge and you looked after Carolyn while I could not. That makes you a very welcome addition to the household in my book, but since Mrs Muir is the tenant…" He turned to Carolyn.

"Maria, welcome to the family!" She offered her hand and Maria shook it firmly.

"Duggan you said your name was as I recall," the Captain mused thoughtfully, pulling on his beard.

"You were there?" Maria said, shocked.

He nodded. "I was not strong enough to respond, but I certainly heard you. I knew a Peter Duggan back in the day. He was the carpenter who helped me with some of the work here at Gull Cottage. Any relation?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "My great-great-great-grandfather!"

"That many greats? I really must be getting old."

"You don't look a day over 41," Maria assured him. Then, off his scowl, amended her statement. "39?" When he still eyed her she said, "Be reasonable, Captain. I have to stay within the bounds of believability!"

"Insolent wench!"

"Hey. I'm nearly as good as Martha! I'll take that as a compliment. Thank you, Captain." With a jaunty wink she left.

The Captain turned to Carolyn, his frown quickly morphing to a smile. "It's good to see you properly, my dear."

"And it's good to see you, too. I know you've been trying to get back for a while. If I'd known all we had to do was get Claymore being Claymore I would have brought him here to wind you up sooner."

"I doubt it would have worked. It has taken me rather longer than I imagined to recoup my strength, even once I had persuaded the powers that be that I had no desire to move on."

"You _were_ given the chance, then?"

"I was. I managed to plead my case."

"I'm glad. I hope you don't… exist to regret it. I'll grow old, but you won't."

"Madam, no matter the years you will always look beautiful to me," he returned gallantly.

"That's sweet. Nonsense, but sweet."

"I am **not** sweet! And it is not nonsense. Your shell may age, but I see your soul, and that is almost the same as the day I first met you. If anything, the years have only made it lovelier."

Shyly, she ducked her head, blushing. "Thank you. The poem you gave me, Captain. It was… well…" she looked up at him and he nodded. "Who wrote it?"

He shrugged. "No one knows. It suddenly appeared in the 1930's and I came across it in a War Veterans memorial service document back in '38 or '39 I think, but I've lost the original so had to remember it. I'm not sure I got it entirely correct."

"Whether you did or not, it's beautiful, Captain."

"I hope it helped, at least a little."

"It did. Having you back will help even more."

"I saw you struggling. It seems to me your problem is because you are focussing on the wrong person as the source of humour. **I** am not the source of amusement so much as Claymore's ridiculous responses to my reasonable demands. Redirect your writings to reflect this and let his actions speak for themselves and I believe it will work."

"'Reasonable demands'?" she replied, incredulously.

"They seem perfectly reasonable to me," he said, tugging his cuffs into place before folding his arms.

Carolyn grinned. "Looks like everything's back to normal!"

"Indeed." He pulled at his ear. "I, er, hope you did not think I was too forward when I…"

"Captain, you may do that as often as you wish to," she assured him.

"Would that I could, dear lady. Unfortunately, that, too, sapped my strength. It probably added a day or so to my recovery, but I do not regret the effort and it is a moment I will treasure."

"As will I. You are quite the kisser, Captain."

"One day, madam, if you will permit me, I will show you that is only the beginning. However, given you will have to be on this side of the veil, I trust that will be in the distant future."

She nodded. While she couldn't say she was looking forward to it, it was nice to know there would be something positive waiting for her at the end of her life. "You have my permission, Captain. Now and always."

 **※※※**

 **※※※**

 **End**

Today, the common attribution of _Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep_ is to a Baltimore lady, Mary Frye, but there's still some argument about it and, since the piece was originally released and circulated unattributed in the public domain it is, apparently, copyright free. The words vary depending on which version you read and the one the Captain refers to was published on page 62 of a memorial service document for the United Spanish War Veterans Service held in Portland on September 11, 1938 and was published by the US Congress in early 1939. Amongst other minor differences, that version reads: "As you awake with the morning's hush/I am the swift up-flinging rush". As the Captain is something of a writer I can imagine him subconsciously altering the words to make them span better and to reflect his own understanding of their meaning (thus changing up-flinging – which sounds like you've been jerked out of your sleep by a nightmare – to uplifting, which is a rather gentler and more positive word choice). The version I first encountered, however, was much later and not one the Captain could have known at this time. The group _Libera_ (a boys' choir) recorded an incredibly moving musical interpretation in 2004 that is on their CD, 'Free'. Performances can be found on YouTube and most of the word alterations I used can be traced to this version. I recommend readers do a search and listen to it. It has often moved me to tears.


End file.
